


Gallifreyan Rim: A Tale from the Time War (Pacific Rim AU)

by Bystander3



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio), Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst, Drift Compatibility, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jaeger Pilots, Kaiju, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Time War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4418279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bystander3/pseuds/Bystander3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the Time War, Time Lords in giant robots battle giant monsters bred by the Daleks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The Time War between the Daleks and the Time Lords defies attempts by historians to map events into one coherent linear narrative. When both sides in a conflict have access to time travel, any past event can be rewritten to play out multiple different ways. In practice, this happened constantly. Every battle was both lost and won a dozen different times in a dozen different ways. The thread of so-called “linear time” quickly became a Cat’s Cradle and then, ultimately, a Gordian Knot. The face of history became a palimpsest, erased and overwritten so many times, that traces from the all the previous layers began to bleed through and insert themselves on to the final page in defiance of all logic or causality.

The History of the Time War is not one story, but a book containing a thousand different tales, all of them contradictory and all of them equally true.

This is one of those stories.

 

* * * * *

 

Second Rassilonian Era. Timeline 2784/Zeta. Variant Marigold. Year 3814.9. Gallifrey.

 

_Time War Year Zero_

  * Daleks land on Gallifrey and establish a beachhead at the pole of the planet directly opposite the Citadel of the Time Lords.  
Defensive stalemate lines quickly form at the coastlines of the great Ocean of Poon separating the Dalek-controlled Continent of Endless Philosophy from the opposing Continent of Wild Endeavor still held by the Time Lords.



 

_Time War Year One_

  * The mad creator of the Daleks, Davros, lures the outlaw Time Lady geneticist, the Rani, to a meeting in the wild lands.


  * The Daleks ambush the Rani and take her prisoner.


  * The Rani begins genetic mutation experiments in aid of the Dalek war effort.



 

_Time War Year Two_

  * Factions within the high council resurrect Rassilon the First from the Matrix using the forbidden sciences.


  * Rassilon declares himself Lord President for Life.



 

_Time War Year Three_

  * The Dalek Emperor severs the Rani’s head and places her brain in a jar to free her from distractions that might detract from her work.


  * Public commentators in the citadel claim that this action drives the Rani insane.


  * Close associates of the Rani point out that this is ridiculous, as it presupposes that the Rani was sane to begin with.


  * The scope and audacity of the Rani’s genetic mutation experiments expands.



 

_Time War Year Four_

  * Irving Braxiatel returns from his self-imposed exile. Rassilon appoints Braxiatel as grand Marshall of Gallifrey’s litoral defense forces.


  * Disgraced ex-president Romana re-emerges from the Axis, having battled her way back to her home timeline with her time-tossed companions, Leela, Narvin, K-9, and Andred (a mildly paradoxical temporal refugee).



 

_Time War Year Four / Kaiju Campaign Year Zero_

  * The first of the giant Kaiju makes landfall on Wild Endeavor.
  * House Dvora is completely obliterated.
  * Millions die.



 

_Kaiju Campaign Year One_

  * Marshall Braxiatel recruits Narvin to oversee construction of the first giant robotic Jaegers based on the designs of the eccentric and forgetful genius, Professor Chronotis.


  * The fact that the Jaegers utilize repurposed tech backwards engineered from captured enemy weapons is CLASSIFIED and not widely known.



 

_Kaiju Campaign Year Two_

  * Leela and Andred become co-pilots of one of the first Jaegers



 

_Kaiju Campaign Year Three_

  * Romana fails to win her Presidential seat back from Rassilon when she is defeated in a special election.


  * Rassilon orders Romana to abandon politics and to instead use her great intellect to aid Marshall Braxiatel and his Jaeger program.



 

_Kaiju Campaign Year Four_

  * Leela loses a husband and a co-pilot when Andred is killed in Jaeger-Kaiju combat.


  * Navin refurbishes and upgrades Leela’s Jaeger, renaming it the Shobogan Archon.


  * Ousted from politics, Romana finds she has nothing left but the desire for revenge against the Daleks who once held her prisoner for twenty years on the planet Etra Prime, a past trauma she rarely talks about.


  * Marshall Braxiatel wishes to keep Romana out of the fighting, since he still remembers the young girl she once was when she was his pupil at the Academy.


  * Leela is eager to find a Drift compatible co-pilot so she can return to the fight. If the world is ending, she will face it in a Jaeger, on her feet, with a knife in her hand.



 

_Kaiju Campaign Year Five_

 

  * Our story begins…




	2. "Calibration" or "Talking with Sticks"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two women stand facing each other across the sparring mat in the Shatterdome. Once, Romana and Leela had been fast friends. Now they are virtually strangers. The War has forced many on Gallifrey down unexpected paths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the Prologue first.

“ _Calibration_ ”

     Or

“ _Talking with Sticks_ ”

* * *

 

The sparring room was vast, empty, and insulated from the distant humming bustle of the Shatterdome. Two women stood facing each other. Once they had been fast friends, now virtual strangers. The War had forced many on Gallifrey down unexpected paths and into unexpected roles.

Romana held her staff casually in one hand, leaning her weight lightly on it.

Leela spoke first.

“Marshall Braxiatel may train you how to swing a sword or throw a punch. Mister Narvin can instruct you in basic battle field tactics: flanking, misdirection, and entrapment. You yourself have always had a mind for grand strategy, whether in politics or war. All of these will aid you. None will save you. You are still a Time Lord. You are not Sevateem.

“And so, it is I who must teach you to  _fight_.”

Romana bristled at the condescension.

“I am well in command of  _all_  my faculties, Leela: both mental  _and physical_. This may surprise you, but I did survive for many years before the day you came into my life to stab my enemies for me.”

Leela smiled a wry, mirthless smile.

“You wish to begin, then?”

“Quit trying to scare the new kid and let’s get on with it,” Romana grumbled.

Straightening, Leela raised her staff in front of her in a steady, two-handed grip.

“Very well. I shall approach, slowly, at half-speed, and swing as if to strike. You will deflect and then mimic me, repeating my motions in reverse. I, in turn, will deflect and then elaborate. This will not look, to you, like fighting. It will appear more as dance. In this way, we both will learn.”

For a moment, the vaulted hall was quiet except for the sound of footfalls on matting and the clack of wooden staff striking wooden staff.

Leela broke the silence.

“Do you know what the young ones call it? When the two pilots become the jaeger?”

Romana’s brow creased in puzzlement as she continued the same steady rhythm.

“They call it  _drifting_ ”

“Yes,” Leela agreed, “It is a good word. To  _drift_  is to let go. To drift, you must surrender yourself, body and mind, to outside forces. One who is drifting is not in control. This will not come easy to you.”

“You think I can’t do it?” Romana asked.

“By nature, Time Lords do not drift. Hold tight? Yes. Analyze? Yes. Control, manipulate, organize, and command? Yes, yes and yes. But, to float aimlessly? No, this is not your way.”

Leela twirled and brought her staff arcing in from the side. Romana pivoted to block.

“I can do anything I put my mind to.”

Leela accelerated, raising the stakes.

“This, I know well. You forget how long I have watched you. For years, it was my job. Do you remember when you first took me with you on your holiday to Davidia?”

Romana swallowed dryly and swung again.

“I remember.”

Leela was away and sliding to the left.

“Drifting will be like that …and not like it: A piece of me inside your mind. A piece of yours inside of mine. If we are to fight together, I must trust you, Romana.”

Romana caught Leela’s next swing, not with her staff, but with the sole of her right foot, pushing it aside and propelling herself away.

“After all we’ve been through, have I really given you such reason to doubt me?”

Leela’s center of balance was already rolling forward and after her.

“I believe in you. Belief and trust are not the same. You must make me understand: Why are you here?”

Romana’s pace was quickening. She could hear her pulse inside her ears.

“Gallifrey is my home. I’m here to defend what little I have left. This is the front line.”

Leela swept out a leg, low and fast.

“This is a place where desperate men come to die in vain hope of glory. They say these are the End Times. Surely, your place is in the Capitol.”

Romana leapt, but she was sweating now.

“Not anymore. The Capitol doesn’t want me. I lost the special election. The people chose the comforting jingoist rhetoric of a megalomaniac from the dawn of time. They won’t listen to anything resembling sense or reason.”

Leela circled around, keeping distance between them for a moment.

“Ah… You cannot punish your own people for their stupidity, so you shall vent your frustration on their Enemy instead. See? I begin to understand you again, Romana Trelundar.”

Romana flinched. “That is NOT my name,” she snapped, lashing out with her staff.

“Oh! Is it not?” Leela had a wicked gleam in her eye and a predatory grin, “You must forgive me, Romana. I am just a  _simple_  savage and still so _clumsy_  with your native tongue. How is it said? Romanad – Vorat – Relundar?”

Romana had never seen Leela like this: taunting and teasing, her tone veiled and disingenuous. Why was she acting this way?

“I am Romana-DVORA-trelundar! Heir to the House of Heartshaven and custodian of the House of Dvo….” Romana choked and broke off mid-sentence.

“YES.” Leela pressed her advantage, getting inside Romana’s guard so that the two were grappling now, hand to hand. “Protectress of House Dvora. And how  _well_  they have fared under your protection. Tell me, have you been to see the Ruins? Have you looked upon the crater where the city used to be? The smoking cesspit where the hell-beast finally fell? The Marshall held a memorial, you know. He dedicated a plaque. You would have liked it: All the  _proper protocols_  were followed.”

Sarcasm dripped from her every word. Romana pushed back and attempted to disentangle herself.

“You are trying to make me angry. It will not work.”

Leela’s façade broke. There was pain and sympathy in her eyes.

“But why shouldn’t it? When else do we two speak plainly to each other? In all our years, we have still never spoken of why you hate the Daleks so.”

Romana swung her staff straight at Leela’s head.

“I do not hate them.”

Leela caught the end of the oncoming weapon in the palm of one hand and held it firm.

“That is a Lie. You forget: I was with you when you fought through the Dalek horde to reclaim the Nexus. I saw what was in your eyes that day.”

Leela had stopped fighting. Romana turned her back and avoided Leela’s gaze. Clearly they would make no further progress today.

“I am sorry, Romana. Times are hard, and I must be as well.”

Romana spun on her friend one more time.

“You seem so afraid that I will crack when we take the test tomorrow, but what about you, Leela? Why are  _you_  still here?”

Leela grimaced, then sighed. “I am a warrior of the Sevateem. I must go where there is war. The War is here, and so this is where I am needed.”

“Yes, you are Leela of the Sevateem,” Romana assented. “So you have always said, but how many decades has it been since you saw your home or your own people? Can you even remember their faces? Or the way the air smelled?

Leela growled softly somewhere deep in her throat.

Romana continued. “My planet has never brought you anything but pain, casual ridicule, and a husband you lost and found and lost again. If these are the End Times, why stay? You owe these people nothing.”

Leela straightened. “My pain is my own and my reasons likewise.”

Romana chuckled darkly. “See? You’re not as big on Sharing and Plain Talk as you say. We’re not so different.”

Leela looked up. The thin line of her mouth formed the ghost of a smile.

“Perhaps. We’ll find out tomorrow, I suppose. Mister Narvin has completed repairs on the Shobogan Archon. The test will begin at seven spans. Let’s hope it goes better than today, or the End may come for us sooner than we imagine.”

Romana laughed and turned toward the door, “Leela, seeing as I’m something of an expert on time, let me share a bit of ancient Time Lord secret wisdom: Let Tomorrow worry about Tomorrow.”

The two voices grew softer as their footfalls retreated down the hallway towards the cafeteria. Silence again reigned inside the sparring room.

* * *

 

**Next Chapter:**

“ _First Drift_ ”

     Or

“ _Why PTSD and Giant Robots Shouldn’t Mix_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will there be more of this? I don't know.


	3. "Interlude" or "Coffee and Freudian Psychology"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romana and Leela's first trial run in a Jaeger will begin shortly. But first, we visit Mister Narvin and Marshall Braxiatel as they make preparations on the command deck high above the launch bay floor. The war against the Kaiju is entering it's final stages and the stakes are high. For everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight change of plans: We're going to take a brief detour to see what Narvin and Brax are doing before the main event. I have at least the next three chapters planned out and one partially written.

" _Interlude_ "

or

" _Coffee and Freudian Psychology_ "

* * *

 

Narvin dodged and weaved through the bodies of the bustling throng crossing to and fro around the workstations of the Shatterdome’s command deck. He held six steaming mugs of black coffee, three in each hand, raised at shoulder height to avoid being jostled, with the ease of long practice. With a sigh, he slide into the well-worn, ergonomically-padded chair of his workstation, never spilling a drop. As Coordinator of Station Operations, Narvin spent more hours a day here than he did in his tiny quarters eight decks below. He slept in Ops more often than his own bed, actually.

Narvin’s station stood at the front of the room, close up against the glass windows overlooking the vast floor of the jaeger launch bay far below. Not that Narvin spent much time admiring the view: he had no less than six data screens floating in front of him at any given time. His eyes skimmed across shift rosters, repair schedules, supply inventories, and launch bay reservations as they all scrolled past.

Narvin settled in for a long shift. In a way, today was the much-anticipated culmination of everything Narvin had worked towards for the past six months. In another way, it was everything he’d been dreading made real. Narvin took a scalding sip from his first mug of caffeine to settle his nerves. He nearly choked when the Marshall spoke from mere inches behind his left ear.

“And how is our titanium goliath this evening, Mister Narvin?”

Narvin pivoted his chair to look up into the face of Irving Braxiatel, Grand Marshall of Gallifrey’s coastal defense forces. Marshall Braxiatel stood tall and straight-backed, impeccably coiffed and tailored as always, not a hair or thread out of place. His dark, crisply pressed suit gave the impression of a military uniform without actually being a military uniform, a small act of eccentric rebellion in the face of Armageddon.

Narvin sighed and turned back to his displays.

“Shobogan Archon is running through her pre-launch checks and diagnostics now. Showing green across the board,” Narvin said.

Narvin felt a small swell of pride and relief pass through him. It had been six months of hard work and sleepless nights overseeing reconstruction of the Archon’s tortured and shattered frame. He had called in all his markers and strong-armed all his old contacts scrounging up the components needed to reassemble her shining carapace. All the best material was earmarked for the time-ships patrolling the skies and timewinds overhead.

_We’re only holding back the abominations of the pit down here_ , Narvin though bitterly. _No one can spare a single artron polarizer? ...Just to save the heart of Gallifrey culture from extinction?_

Navin still shuddered when he pictured the hideous damage to the armored warrior behemoth when they dragged her out of the deep. He could still see the jagged metal streamers where the whole left side of the cockpit had been torn away. The metal had twisted like ribbons and deformed like taffy, leaving a black hole where Leela’s copilot (... _and husband_ , he reminded himself,) had disappeared without a trace.

“It’s not the hardware so much that I’m worried about," Navin added. "We’re gambling quite a lot that this scheme of yours can work.”

“Steady on, Mr. Narvin. Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Braxiatel drawled.

He spread his hands wide in an elegantly choreographed gesture meant to convey calm assurance. Narvin had seen it often enough to find it annoying.

“If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t work," Braxiatel offered. "If they are incompatible, then they’re incompatible. We will start the search for new pilot candidates and all we will have lost is time.”

“Minutes and hours may as well be days and weeks given the rate the enemy keeps throwing these monsters at us,” Narvin argued back. “They’ve upped their output again. The expected time between encounters now stands at eight hours and will be down to four by the end of the week.”

“Then have a little faith in the ladies, Narvin,” Braxiatel replied. “They may surpass our wildest expectations.”

Braxiatel leaned annoyingly close to Narvin’s ear as he perused the data screens.

“I have total faith in them,” Narvin snapped. Narvin pitched his voice low, so as to not be overheard and dropped the the formalities of their military surroundings.

“I know Romana and Leela just as well as you do, _Brax_. Better, I would say,” Narvin whispered. “They are two of the most formidable people I have ever met, but they are oil and water. They always have been. You know that. As different as night and day.”

The Marshall straightened up.  
“Have you read any Freud, Mr. Narvin?” he said, in a normal tone of voice.

“What?” Narvin sputtered. It was just like Brax to skirt a sensitive conversation by bringing up some obscure, academic minutia.

“I’m studying the 19th century fathers of the field of human psychology," Braxiatel continued, casually. "I just got in a shipment of leather-bound first editions for my, ...ah, ...personal library. I’d gladly loan you one. There’s something special about reading a writer’s words right from the printed page as the humans would centuries ago.”

“Actual books?” Narvin laughed. “Dried tree pulp wrapped in dead animal skin, you mean? Ah, no thank you, Braxiatel. I’ll stick to my trusty Matrix data terminal, thank you.”

“Freud theorized that each hemisphere of the brain housed a separate, essential aspect of the human personality," Braxiatel expounded, like a professor giving a lecture. "The left brain was the home of all impulse, emotion, poetry and creativity, while the right brain served as the seat of restraint, logic, calculation, and rationality.”

“Which would be fascinating, if you ignore the fact 90% of Freud’s ideas were thoroughly discredited later of course,” Narvin scoffed. “The earliest so-called psychologists invented theories whole cloth, as I recall, going well beyond what the evidence supported. The murky early days of Earth psychology were little better than mythology and superstition.”

“And it’s a good thing that we highly evolved Time Lords are above the influence of such things as mythology and superstition,” Braxiatel replied.

Most people probably would have missed the trace of sarcasm in his voice. Braxiatel pretended to brush a non-existent fleck of dust off the large Seal of Rassilon that adorned his sleeve. Without looking, Narvin knew that the same Seal was displayed at least six other places around the room, and that was just counting the ones visible from his workstation. Narvin pointedly refrained from glancing at the looming portrait of President Rassilon, the First, Last & Only, which he knew hung on the back wall, glowering down on the command deck with beneficent menace. He refused to give Brax the satisfaction.

“You had some kind of point, I assume?” he replied instead.

“Oh, always,” Braxiatel smiled. “While Freud got the details wrong, in this case the basic principle still stands. Every living, sentient mind must strive for a balance between impulse and restraint, between drive and discernment. Only with both, can one make precise, split-second decisions in the heat of battle. Romana and Leela have the potential to become one of the greatest jaeger pilot teams ever.”

“Potential, yes,” Narvin conceded, “but that’s only if they survive the mental stress of their first Drift. Your glorious synthesis of Ying and Yang is only possible if both can bend and meet in the middle. You’re talking about two of the most stubborn people on the whole planet, myself included. If Leela and Romana can’t integrate their differences, the strain could shred their minds. I’ve seen what happens to incompatible candidates who chase the R.A.B.I.T. Some are never the same. They get lost inside themselves, in a feedback loop with no answer and no escape.”

“Romana and Leela are strong enough. That won’t happen,” Braxiatel asserted firmly.

“It’s a risk,” objected Narvin.

“They are the most promising candidates we have,” Braxiatel said. “They are both willing and eager to try. I need pilots. The War needs pilots. I can’t have a functional Jaeger sitting idle and unmanned. Not now.”

Narvin and Braxiatel sat silently for a moment as the noisy hustle and bustle of the command center continued around them.

Narvin sighed.

“It’s amazing how the threat of imminent annihilation changes one’s priorities. I’ve done things in this War I never would have imagined before,” he mused.

“We all have,” Braxiatel agreed, quietly.

Narvin stared into his coffee contemplatively.

“There were so many rules that I used to care about in the old days. They seemed so important at the time,” he said, almost to himself.

“And now?” Braxiatel asked.

Navin straightened up in his chair.

“There are only two things left in this universe that I still care about, Marshall, and the first and foremost is preserving our homeland for as long as possible, by whatever means necessary, no matter how blasphemous.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Braxiatel’s features. At least some things remained predictable: Narvin was a Gallifreyan loyalist, all the way to the End. The moment passed and Brax forced the mask of The Marshall back into place. He saw that Narvin’s attention had already shifted back to the reams of data scrolling across his console.

“And the second?” the Marshall prompted.

“Hmm?” Narvin only half turned in response to Brax’s question, clearly still distracted.

“The second thing that you still care about,” Braxiatel clarified.

Narvin turned back to his screens. His shoulders were very still. Braxiatel couldn’t see his face. When he replied, his voice was soft and just barely loud enough to be heard.

“The second is upstairs, about to strap herself into a 20-storey tall death machine that I designed and built for her.”

* * *

 

**Next Chapter:**

" _First Drift_ "

     Or

" _Why PTSD and Giant Robots Don't Mix_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * R.A.B.I.T. stands for Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers, the random memories that are dredged up to the surface of the mind during the initial stages of the Drift.


	4. "First Drift" or "Why PTSD & Giant Robots Don't Mix"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Copilots Romana and Leela prepare to link minds for their first Drift in their new jaeger.
> 
> Everything goes off without a hitch.
> 
> No, just kidding!
> 
> Everything starts to go horribly wrong!

" _First Drift_ "

    Or

" _Why PTSD and Giant Robots Don't Mix_ "

* * *

 

Romana stared down into the helmet she held cradled in her hands and blew out a long, slow breath as the elevator clicked slowly upwards. Aside from her, the lift was empty. This would be her last moment of solitude before the start of the trials. She focused on the helmet to center herself. The interior was lined with small hexagonal electrode pads, each with a colored electrical lead that disappeared somewhere inside the shell of the helmet. The electrodes would link her mind with her copilot’s, so they could act in unison as one entity, one being. Romana didn’t know why she was so nervous. She had run simulations. She had studied the specs of the jaeger down to every last bolt.

 _It’s only Leela_ , she told herself. _You’ve known each other for years._

Romana rubbed her palms against the armored plates of her skin-tight drive suit. She wasn’t used to it yet. To her, it still felt restrictive, despite being designed with enough flexibility to accommodate any imaginable martial arts move. It was so different from the flowing cream and gold ceremonial robes she had once worn as Lady President of the High Council of the Time Lords, the most powerful woman in the cosmos. Her will had been indomitable and her word unquestioned.

Those days were long gone. There was only room for one Lord President these days. Rasillon had seen to that.

The elevator reached the uppermost platform and stopped with a mechanical clank. The doors opened in a burst of steam. At the end of a short, collapsable causeway was the dimly lit, heavily armored cockpit of the Shobogan Archon, the most advance and deadly jaeger the Time Lords had ever produced. Romana took a moment to lean over the railing of the catwalk to admire the dizzying scale of the mechanical colossus that was about to become hers. (Assuming the test went well, of course.)

As floodlights clicked on throughout the launch bay, Romana got her first glimpse of the new color scheme that Narvin had chosen for the Archon’s upgraded armor shell.

Broad, cream-colored plates were outlined in gold trim and filigree.

White & Gold. Presidential colors.

Narvin could hardly have chosen a more blasphemous way of decorating his new masterpiece even if he had hand-painted a full-body portrait of Rassilon reclining nude in a sultry pin-up pose on the outside of the cockpit. The War had made Narvin truly reckless if he was willing to thumb his nose at the all-powerful Lord President so directly. Romana’s hearts swelled with warmth and gratitude for the Ops Coordinator’s rebellious gesture. What the hell, right? They may all be dead in a week anyways.

Romana’s eyes took a moment to adjust as she entered the dim cockpit. Two huge articulated armature assemblies hung from the ceiling. They supported battle harnesses for the two pilots. Romana’s eyes followed the thick bundle of cables that would connect her sensitive brain to the massive war machine. ...And to the mind of her friend and former bodyguard, Leela.

At first, Romana didn’t notice her copilot behind all the equipment. Then she caught a glimpse of Leela through gaps between the cables. Leela had her drive suit 90% of the way on. The pale skin of her bare left arm and shoulder stood out in the dim light. The sleeve of her suit still hung limp at her side. Leela was facing away from the entrance as she rubbed thoughtfully at the skin of her exposed forearm.

Romana suddenly had the awkward feeling that she was intruding on a private moment. She took two steps backward and coughed, making sure to bang her helmet noisily against the doorframe as she entered the cockpit for a second time.

Leela startled and vanished from view behind the machinery. When she reemerged, her suit was sealed up to the neck and both arms were fully covered.

 _That’s odd_ , thought Romana. _It’s unlike Leela to be self-conscious about something as trivial as a little exposed skin._

Now that she thought back, however, Romana couldn’t remember seeing Leela wearing anything other than her military issued ranger uniform for weeks. The uniform was comfortable, practical, and, like all clothing designed for Time Lords, it covered everything from the neck down. Back when she had served as the presidential bodyguard, Leela had defiantly rejected Time Lord fashions and insisted on providing her own hand-made garments. Just another example of how much the War had changed things, Romana supposed. Add it to the list.

“Welcome, Romana,” Leela said as she stepped forward to check the clasps and seals on Romana’s suit. “Today is the Day. Are you nervous?”

“Honestly, Leela? Yes, very much so,” Romana confessed. “I didn’t realize until this morning how badly I want this to succeed. I want to feel like I’m contributing to the War-effort. I can’t stand to be on the sidelines anymore.”

Leela smiled kindly.

“That is perfectly normal,” Leela reassured her. “Every pilot is nervous before her first Drift. I too am eager to get back in the fight. And I believe in you. I believe in us. I have every confidence that the test will be successful.”

Then, much quieter, almost to herself, she added, “It has to.”

The radio crackled to life. Narvin’s voice sounded artificially chipper.

“How are you ladies this fine evening? Are you ready to take our titanium titaness through her paces?”

Leela clicked a button by her right hand.

“We are strapping in now, Narvin. Standby.”

Romana donned her helmet and listened to it seal with a hiss of escaping gases. The massive rig of the control harness screwed itself onto the back plate of her suit with a ratcheting sound. Out of the corner of her eye, Romana watched the gangway retract and the exterior hatch swing closed. The lights flickered as Archon switched over to internal power from her onboard reactor.

Romana forced herself to take deep slow breaths as her helmet filled with green fluid.

 _I am not trapped_ , she repeated silently to herself. _This place is but a second skin, responding to my will. It is not my tomb._

The fluid drained away again. Romana focused her eyes on the hexagonal pattern that adorned the opposite wall. _So similar to the hexagonal sensor pads inside her helmet_ , she thought randomly.

“I’m showing strong signals from both pilots,” Narvin’s voice intoned over the intercom. “Prepare for neural handshake.”

Romana raised both hands to her temples as she had been trained. In her peripheral vision, Leela mirrored the same motions.

“Three… Two… One!” their two voices chanted in unison.

“CONTACT!”

VWUMM----Vwum---vwum--vwm--vm-vmvmvmvmvmv…

Romana’s vision suddenly sharpened. She was seeing the world through two sets of eyes. She listened with all four of her ears. Her pulse rate slowed to a steady throb in all three of her hearts. Well-oiled pistons moved beneath her shoulder blades as her massive metallic limbs settled into a judo ready stance with a dancer’s grace. The Shatterdome had suddenly become a very small place.

The voice speaking in her ears now was Braxiatel’s.

“Physical alignment looks good. Psyche integration comes next. You have two lives in your head now, Archon. Allow the images to wash over you, but do not fixate. What is past is merely memory. Only the Now is now. Do not chase the R.A.B.I.T.”

Scenes flashed by like a slideshow, running too fast to follow. Some were alien and new. A Face carved into a towering stone wall. Trial by Horta. The day she became a warrior. A lighthouse. Sontarans in the Capitol. A mud-filled trench.

Others were as familiar as old robes. Heartshaven. The Academy. The Guardian. The Key to Time. Her presidential inauguration ceremony.

_A darkened hallway lined with doors._

“NO! DON’T LOOK!”

Romana’s body jerked sideways in her harness. Her arms were flesh and blood again. Her mind cast about for something familiar to latch onto. Hexagons. Where were they? Hexagons. There!

The world shifted again. Romana stood in a room she had never seen before, still wearing her drive suit. The room was full of crates, stacked into pyramids. Markings on the wall told Romana she was still somewhere in the Shatterdome. A small maintenance bay off one of the main jaeger hangers, perhaps.

A voice was speaking nearby.

“The necessary parts are hard to come by. You need to accept the fact that this will take time.”

Romana knew that voice. That was Narvin’s voice.

Romana rounded the corner of a stack of boxes into a cleared space set up as a makeshift workshop. Romana saw the weary Coordinator hunched over a work table covered in hunks of scrap metal in various shapes and sizes. A branching bundle of wires lay in the center of the table, stretched out neatly. Each wire was a different color and each ended in a small hexagonal pad. A matching schematic diagram hung on the wall.

“Narvin!” Romana called out.

Narvin didn’t react. He remained focused on his work. He gave no sign that he could hear her as she approached. As she peered over his shoulder, Romana could see that Narvin was working on a circular piece of metal, about the size of a hubcap and shaped like a shallow bowl. He pried a stubborn fastener off the hubcap’s inner surface.

A second voice called out from somewhere just above and behind Romana’s head, making her jump.

“I need to get back out there, Narvin. Not next month. Not next week. Now.”

Romana spun towards the source of the voice. Leela was perched atop the uppermost crate in the nearest pyramid of boxes like some sort of restless jungle cat. Her left heel tapped impatiently against the box.

“Well, that’s simply not realistic, Leela,” Narvin replied. “While it’s true I can rebuild your jaeger…”

Narvin gestured out the main doors. In the distance, Romana could see the naked skeleton of Shobogan Archon, still under construction.

Narvin continued, “That won’t magically heal everything that you have lost. You are still in mourning, whether you want to admit it or not. You need time just as much as the Archon does. Throwing yourself into battle will not bring Andred back.”

Leela made a noise in her throat that was practically a growl.

“I will mourn in my own way. I know what I need better than you do, _Time Lord_. I need to be in a Jaeger. I need to be in a Fight. It is all I have. It’s all that’s holding me together.”

Narvin sighed with a weariness that Romana could feel in her bones. He turned back to the hubcap.

“Fine then, Ranger. If you insist on indulging your _savage_ deathwish, then go kill me some more of the Enemy. I can’t build jaegers without proper parts. And you know as well as I do that the parts I need only come from one place.”

With one final yank, Narvin wrenched a stubborn component from inside the hubcap. He held it up to the light. It was a hexagonal sensor pad trailing a lead of colorful wire.

Romana felt her hearts tighten in her chest as Narvin reached for the edge of the circular metal bowl, which she knew now was almost certainly not a hubcap. Somehow, even before it happened, deep down she knew what she was about to see.

Narvin flipped the metal disk over. The bowl became a dome. On top of the dome, evenly spaced, like two ears, in protruding glass housings, were two lights. In between them, on a pivot mount, was the bent and twisted remains of a telescoping eyestalk.

Narvin’s eyes stared straight through Romana without seeing her.

“You want jaegers? Bring me dead Daleks.”

Romana began to hyperventilate. Sweat trickled down her forehead. It trickled in a hexagonal path around the edges of the neural sensor pads that were pressed into her skull inside her helmet, right now. At this very moment, colored leads had her brain hardwired directly into the armored body of a war machine. She was a squishy bit of grey matter driving a tank.

Romana’s world began to close in around her. She felt the crushing weight of an impenetrable metal shell pressing in on all sides. This couldn’t be happening. It was her nightmare. This was the same recurring dream she had had for thirty years.

It wasn’t fair. She had escaped. She had rebuilt herself. Out of pure bloody-minded spite, she had clawed her way to the top until she held the most powerful position in all of time and space. She had surrounded herself with all the defenses the oldest civilization in the universe could muster. In the end, it hadn’t mattered. They had got her anyway, just as she always feared they would. Somehow she had ended up back here.

A brain in a jar, trapped in an armored shell.

A Dalek.

The world was spinning. Romana was falling into a bottomless black hole. The weight pressed in from all sides. In the darkness of the Drift, Romanadvoratrelundar, Time Lady, ex-president, jaeger pilot, and former POW, curled into a ball and vanished.

 

* * *

 

Leela’s spirit sang as she moved through the final kata of the calibration routine. Images flashed behind her eyes, but she barely saw them. She was finally back where she belonged: in the cockpit of her jaeger. The knot of tension she carried in her stomach finally melted. Here she was Strong. Here she was Free. Here she could fight the Monster hand-to-hand and win. Maybe it would all be okay again. She could still turn back the tide. They would do it together.

Suddenly, everything lurched sideways. Leela was back in her body, staggering in her drive harness. Somewhere, she thought she heard someone shout “No! Don’t Look!” A warning indicator was flashing on her heads-up display. Groggy and disoriented, she reached out her hand and slapped at the control panel. The warning expanded until it filled the screen in front of her.

“Energy Reserves at 117%”

Leela’s brows furrowed.

“That cannot be. Computer! Run Diagnostic!”, she shouted.

The computer chirped.

“Analyzing… Diagnostic Complete. Error Code One-point-One-point-Seven,” the voice of the computer recited.

“Explain!” Leela snapped.

“Fault in Sub-sector One Hundred, Junction Seventeen,” the voice elaborated, unhelpfully.

“Explain!” Leela barked again.

“Consult Pilot’s Manual, page One-Seventeen.”

“Cursed machine! Tell me what is wrong!”, Leela raged.

The computer voice fell silent. Dozen of displays throughout the cockpit lit up with the a single repeated message.

“UNIT 117” “UNIT 117” “UNIT 117”

“UNIT 117” “UNIT 117” “UNIT 117”

“UNIT 117” “UNIT 117” “UNIT 117”

Leela called out, “Romana, do you understand what…”

Leela trailed off as she turned to face her copilot. Something was wrong. Romana was frozen in place, her body as still as a statue, halfway through the third calibration stance.

_Stupid!_

_Stupid_ , Leela chastised herself. In her excitement, she had allowed herself to become distracted. She had ignored the Drift. She had taken it for granted. She should have noticed the instant something was amiss with her copilot, but in that crucial moment, she had been thinking only of herself. _Stupid!_

There was still time to fix this. Leela reached out with her mind.

“Romana?”

The Time Lady did not respond. She did not move. Instead, without a single change in posture or expression, she opened her mouth and let out a blood-curdling scream.

Leela’s vision blurred around the edges. Reality and Drift were starting to overlap.

Then everything came apart. Literally. Screws reversed themselves out of armored plates. Computer panels flew apart into chips and circuit boards. Leela watched as, all around, her beloved jaeger disassembled itself into its constituent components. They hung in the air, like the exploded view in a set of assembly instructions for the universe’s most insanely complicated piece of IKEA furniture. Then, with a loud clap, all the individual fragments rocketed away into the infinite distance. The retreating remnants of the cockpit left Leela floating in a vast, black, featureless void. An icy chill blossomed in Leela’s stomach.

She turned round and round, scanning the darkness.

“Romana?”

Her copilot was nowhere to be found. Romana had vanished as if she had never even been.

Suddenly, gravity snatched hold of Leela and she found herself falling. Somewhere far below, something with teeth opened a massive, bottomless maw.

Inanely, the thought “Hello again, Horta,” passed briefly across the surface of Leela’s mind. She chuckled darkly as she fell.

Then darkness swallowed Leela whole, and there was nothing.

* * *

 

**Next Chapter:**

" _Chaos_ "

    Or

" _Putting the Shatter in Shatterdome_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we check in on Narvin & Brax again. (Things are not going well.)
> 
> But after that, Leela makes a psychic visit to the prison cells of Etra Prime!


	5. "Chaos" or "Putting the Shatter in Shatterdome"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the two jaeger pilots not responding, Narvin and Braxiatel discover that they are about to have a very bad day.
> 
> Shobogan Archon gets primal.

“ _Chaos_ ”

    Or

“ _Putting the Shatter in Shatterdome_ ”

* * *

 

Sirens blared throughout the command deck of the Shatterdome. Narvin’s hands flew frantically over the controls of his work console.

“What’s happening?” Braxiatel barked.

“She’s frozen!” Narvin raged. “They’re both frozen. Romana was the first to go out of alignment, but she has dragged Leela right along with her. I warned you, Braxiatel! I told you this could—”

All at once, Narvin stopped moving. Two new lights had appeared on his display.

“Oh, no,” Narvin breathed. His voice was suddenly very small.

“Talk to me, Narvin,” Braxiatel prompted.

“Shobogan Archon’s main turbine is spinning up,” he shouted. “3000… No! 5000 RPMs! Hydraulic pressure is rising in her lower tanks. No, no, no, no, no!”

“What does that _mean_?” Braxiatel asked.

Narvin stared out the view windows with a look of doomed certainty.

“She’s going to run.”

It took a second for Braxiatel to process what Narvin meant. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he sputtered. “Why would they run?”

“It’s not them doing it,” Narvin explained. “Romana and Leela’s conscious minds are in a fugue state. This is all lower brain-stem activity. The jaeger is operating on instinct. It’s gonna bolt!”

Braxiatel started shouting orders.

“Engage the clamps!” he commanded. “Cut the main power feed!”

“It’s too late!” Narvin objected, banging on the console. “She’s already switched over to her internal reactor. We can’t power her down from here. Plus, nothing we have can hold her. Archon is a Mark 5! She’s too strong!”

A cacophony of grinding metal came from outside. All eyes turned to the launch bay. The Shobogan Archon was in motion. Its feet wrenched free of the docking clamps that enclosed them, shredding the metal bonds. Its right foot clipped the boom arm of a nearby construction crane and sent it flipping through the air like a child’s toy. The crane came down in bay 3 on the opposite side of the hanger and collided with a tanker truck which went up in a blaze of jet fuel.

Free of its restraints, Shobogan Archon dropped into a crouch. It was uncanny to see the towering technological marvel in a pose that looked so… animalistic, almost primal.

The jaeger rose and stumbled, listing to one side like a drunkard. It reached out one arm to brace itself. The metal palm of its massive hand eclipsed the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the command level. The windows shattered, spraying an explosion of glass over the Coordinator, the Marshall, and the entire control room. The metal of the empty window frames screeched and buckled. A main support beam in the ceiling broke loose and came crashing down.

As the jaeger righted itself the hand released its grip. The whole front wall fell away, leaving Braxiatel and Narvin perched on the edge of an unguarded precipice as wind whipped through the whole deck.

Coughing and surrounded by sparks, Braxiatel bellowed to make himself heard over the wind.

“Close the launch bay doors!” her ordered.

“Do we really want that thing caged in here with us?” Narvin questioned.

“Just do it!” insisted Braxiatel, with as much of his Marshall persona as he could muster.

The main bay doors began to slide closed with a groan and a colorful cascade of flashing warning lights.

The jaeger’s head whipped around, attracted by the motion in its peripheral vision. Archon made a dash for the closing doors. It started on all fours in a low gallop and then rose onto two feet as it picked up speed. It lowered its leading shoulder like a hockey player preparing for a body check. It slammed into the doors while they were still half open. The left door crumpled and caved outward, like a bomb had hit it. The right door came off its track completely. It flipped through the air, far out over the ocean. When it came down, it embedded itself in the seafloor, standing upright like the dorsal fin of some huge mechanical shark.

The wind still howled and alarms still clanged. In one corner of the hanger, firefighters raced to put out the still-burning fuel truck, but otherwise, the Shatterdome was still. Through the ruined doors of the hanger, Narvin and Braxiatel could see nothing but blackness. Gallifrey’s coastal defense force had just lost its most powerful weapon.

Somewhere out there in the shallow sea, a feral robot roamed the night.

* * *

 

**Next Chapter:**  

" _Confinement_ "

    Or

" _A Darkened Hallway Lined With Doors_ "

**Author's Note:**

> (I started writing this because I just really, really wanted Romana and Leela in a Jaeger. I may be insane. I never thought it would have a plot. I just had squiggly feelings about taking my favorite characters and throwing them into a hopeless apocalyptic setting with emphasis on camaraderie. Now, after a five-year hiatus, I came back and discovered I suddenly have chapters and chapters of plot to tell in this world.)


End file.
